


Throw Away Your Umbrella

by TristansGirl



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-16
Updated: 2011-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TristansGirl/pseuds/TristansGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's short and bittersweet and someone dies</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throw Away Your Umbrella

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my friend, J because she's an amazing, lovely person and she was kind enough to do some drawings for my story Golden. I wanted to repay her and this is all I could do. She requested death fic. She requested this specifically and though I don't usually write death fic, who am I to deny such a wonderful girl?

He never comes here unless it’s raining.

He would never be able to explain it – he doesn’t know why himself. He just knows that it doesn’t feel right to be here in the sun.

But the rain doesn’t fall very often in Los Angeles, so the times he comes here are few and far between. He always stays a long time though, as if that somehow makes up for his absence.

He takes a deep breath and steps out of the car, feet following a path that he knows too well.

It takes him to a headstone, a special one among so many, and he kneels down before it.

He lifts his hand and traces the lettering carved into the stone, fingers playing over the name with reverence.

 _Adam Lambert_

The fans still come, even after all these years, they still come. They leave tributes, sparkling things and mischievous things. Some would say inappropriate. But there are none now; the cemetery crew clears them away every few days.

It seems sadder without them.

He sighs, pushes wet, blond bangs out of his eyes and folds his legs underneath his body.

He will be here awhile.

He keeps his hand on the headstone and leans in, the words for Adam and Adam alone.

“Hey, Adam. Sorry it’s been so long. It hasn’t rained in a while though. But . . . I’m here now.”

The rain makes it hard to see, blurring his world.

“So you probably want to know what’s going on, huh?” He pauses, inhales, exhales. “Um . . . let’s see. The band is still doing well. I mean, we’re still not superstars, but we’re touring regularly and that’s where most of the money is now anyway. In fact, we just played a show here a few nights ago. Man, you would not believe how many of our old fans were there. You’d think they’d move on, but . . .”

He shakes his head, barely holds back a sob.

“So yeah, that’s still going ok. And I get session work when I can. The usual.”

He shifts, moving closer now that he has more personal things to impart.

“Anyway, um . . . Kayla and Samantha are doing real good. Kayla starts kindergarten soon, can you believe it? I swear it was just yesterday I was changing her diapers.”

He shakes his head, smiles fondly at the memory.

“And Samantha just started walking. She’s a riot. She’s gonna be my crazy girl. Kayla’s so serious and quiet, but Samantha . . . she’s . . . she’s gonna be my wild one.”

The rain comes harder now as the wind picks up.

A tempest.

Not that he cares. He would sit here and take a bolt of lightning rather than leave now.

“You probably wanna know about Kate, huh? Yeah, we’re not doing that great. We have been going to counseling. We’re trying, but . . . it’s hard. I don’t even know if I love her anymore. Fuck, honestly, I don’t know if I ever did. It was just so hard when you were gone and she was there and . . .”

He brings his forehead to the headstone, letting it touch the cool marble.

“Well, you know. I’ve told you before. You know what it was like.”

His memory pitches backwards in time as he speaks the words, his mind supplying him with images that he usually manages to keep buried.

 _Adam rubbing his lower back, complaining of pain_

 _Adam calling a meeting, letting them all know the diagnosis; pancreatic cancer_

 _Adam smiling past his cracked lips, smiling despite the vomiting and nausea and exhaustion. Smiling and swearing that he was going to be ok_

 _Adam saying his goodbyes on his deathbed, taking time with all of them, one by one, though he was barely able to speak_

 _Adam lying in the casket, suit perfect, hair perfect, makeup perfect, and all of it so, so wrong because that emaciated husk in the casket could not be Adam. It couldn’t be._

 _It couldn’t be . . ._

He tears himself away from the memories, angry with himself for allowing them to surface.

It hurts now, deep in his chest, and oh how he would love to reach inside himself and pull out the pain, tear it out and rip it to shreds.

“And then there’s me. I wish I could say I was doing better, but . . . I don’t know. I mean, some days are ok, but some days . . . I just miss you so fucking much, man. I miss you so fucking much.”

He’s all but sobbing now, fighting to be heard above the wind and rain, lips nearly kissing the stone.

“And I can’t stop thinking about that night. That night you kissed me. You don’t know how many times I’ve wished I could go back in time and change things. If I could, Adam, I . . . I wouldn’t have been so scared. I would have tried. I would have . . . we could have . . .”

It’s getting harder to talk now; his throat is closing up, his chest heaving with effort, the sobs almost obliterating the words.

“Fuck, I think I could have loved you.”

He slams his fist against the stone, barely feels the spike of pain. Laughs, though it is the laugh of one who is not well, the laugh of the broken.

“I think I could have loved you. And I think that’s what hurts so much. Because I never even tried.”

He drops his head against the stone, his hand now caressing the letters of Adam’s name, over and over and over.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

He stays for another two hours, just like that, until the storm passes.

If anyone were to happen by, they would see a slim, blond man leaning against a beautiful marble headstone. They would see that the man was speaking to whoever lay beneath the ground.

They would see unimaginable sorrow on the man’s face.

They would wonder, perhaps, whom the man had lost. They would pity someone so young in so much grief.

But no one is here to see.

No one ever comes to a graveyard in the rain.


End file.
